Safe and Sound
by GoldeneyedJohnnycake
Summary: This is the sequel to Do it for Johnny. After Cathy Curtis dies, Ponyboy and their son Johnny must navigate a whole new set of challenges. (This summary sucks, I'm sorry. Rated M because I'm being too careful.) This introduces tons of OCs.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** ** _S. E. Hinton owns all rights to the characters in The Outsiders and her other stories, I only own my imagination. This Johnny (Johnny 2.0) is my own creation (along with Mikey, Dave, Shane, Pat, & Neil), though he was unashamedly inspired by Ms. Hinton's Johnny._**

I woke to the pitter-patter of rain on my windows. It was too hot under the covers, so I slipped out of bed to roam around the house for a while. Although it was only 4 AM, I wasn't sleepy. I hadn't been able to sleep since Mom died; the house was much too quiet now. I didn't bother with a shirt, since it was just Dad and me, and I wandered into the kitchen to make some tea for myself.

I watched the rain drip through the gutter like the tears I felt running down my cheeks. Everything in the house still reminded me of her- the electric kettle she bought that lit up when the switch was flipped, the baking stones that were never quite clean, the macramé curtains that we all thought were tacky, even down to the scarf hanging on the coat rack by the door. Her perfume bottles still lined the bathroom counter, her medication was still in the cabinet above the sink, and her toothbrush rested in the glass. It was as though she'd never left. Dad liked it that way.

I shivered as I poured the water into my mug, savoring the light chamomile scent that meandered up through the steam. If I really thought that it would help me sleep, I was kidding myself; I just needed something comforting. I poured a little milk in too, after letting it steep for a bit, and I settled into a chair in the living room. Listening to the soft rain made me hyperaware of the other sounds around the house- the heater kicked on, the ceiling fan was humming as it spun, and Dad was tossing and turning. Maybe he'd join me out here, but I doubted it. He liked to grieve on his own. _I have two hours before I need to get to school. I can't go back to bed now._ I told myself, sipping thoughtfully as I studied the rain glinting like steel pennies through the streetlights. I'd get dressed as soon as I finished my tea, there was no use in waiting.

"You're up too, huh, Johnnycake?" A sleepy voice greeted me with grim amusement.

"I couldn't sleep. It was too hot in my room."

"So now you're drinking hot tea?"

"Yeah." We both understood why; it wasn't worth sleeping without Mom around. It felt too normal.

"You like the rain?" Dad's eyes and hair seemed more grey today.

"Mm-hmm." I nodded, finishing off my tea.

"So do I. It helps me think."

"I found a copy of _Gone with the Wind_ on top of my bookshelf the other day; d'you know anything about it?" I'd found a letter inside too, but I decided to keep that under wraps.

"It's an epic story of two lovers during the Civil War, but I don't think that's what you were asking me about."

"No, it wasn't."

"It was mine; a friend bought it for me a long time ago."

"D'you mind if I read it?"

"That's what it's there for." He left without another word, and I watched him retreat into their room, or I should say, _his_ room. It's gonna be hard to get used to that.

I didn't feel like going to school as I dug through my dresser to find clothes. I never felt like going to school much these days, and Mom's death made it worse. _Maybe I can fake being sick. I never do that, so Dad's bound to believe me._ The thought niggled into the back of my mind as I tugged a black sweater over my tee shirt. I didn't feel so well anyway, but I thought it would pass, so I laced up my sneakers before shrugging into my denim jacket. I never left the house without it. Buttons, my old sock monkey, lay forlornly on the bed, and I hugged him as tightly as I could until the lump in my throat went away.

I didn't have breakfast; I barely ate anything anymore, but I don't think Dad noticed. I brown-bagged some leftovers, but I knew I wouldn't eat them. I'd be more apt to either throw them up or throw them away. Even though I hated wasting food, I just couldn't bring myself to eat unless I couldn't get out of it. Dinner was the only meal I couldn't get out of. Everyone would watch me like a passel of hawks until I'd finished all the food they'd give me. It bugs me when people watch me eat. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and left to wait in the car. I needed some time alone before the drive to school.

"Oh, there you are. I kept calling for you, but you wouldn't answer; now I know why." Dad slid behind the wheel and shoved his things into the back. "Ready to go?"

"I guess." I struggled to keep the tears back, feeling a bit sick as I slumped down in the seat.

"You know you can talk to me, right? I'll always be here if you need me."

"I know." I stared out the window; the sky had taken on a heavy greenish hue. Maybe we'd get a late season tornado.

"You look a little pale, are you feeling okay, Johnnycake?"

"I'll be okay, Dad." I didn't want him to worry about me. Not when he had a million other things on his mind.

"Okay." I could tell he wasn't buying it for a second, but he drove us to school anyway. "Come see me if you start to feel sick, or something. I have a bottle of aspirin in my desk drawer." He added as I exited the car.

"Okay." I hurried inside and made it to the bathroom, where I got sick. I'd never gotten sick at school before, and I couldn't believe how fast the room was spinning and how cold I was as the sweat soaked through my tee shirt. The last thing I remember is the feeling of my dad's arms around me as he caught me when I collapsed.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** ** _S. E. Hinton owns all rights to the characters in The Outsiders and her other stories, I only own my imagination. This Johnny (Johnny 2.0) is my own creation (along with Mikey, Dave, Shane, Pat, & Neil), though he was unashamedly inspired by Ms. Hinton's Johnny._**

"Shh, shh, shh, everything's okay now, Johnnycake. Everything's just fine, you're safe." A cool hand pushed my sweaty hair away from my face as I uttered a discomforted groan. The blankets were painfully hot.

"Stop, please?" I rasped, my throat burning from whatever I'd been coughing up between sleeping episodes.

"You want more water?" It was my dad, who looked pretty tired himself.

"No, jus' want sleep. Everything hurts."

"Give him more water anyway, he's dehydrated." Uncle Soda's voice drifted in from the hallway. I didn't remember him coming to see me.

"Drink this, honey." Dad put a plastic cup to my lips, and I swallowed a little water before falling back on the pillow. "If he keeps this up, we're gonna have to take him to the hospital, Soda."

"Once Steve gets here, he'll be in good hands. He was in a MASH unit in Cambodia."

I fell back to a sleep filled with restless dreams. I kept getting trapped someplace dark with no way out, and for as long as I banged on the door, a banshee screeched at me. It was out there threatening a greater monster if I wouldn't shut up. The intermingled stenches of patchouli, a sickly sort of vinegar, marijuana, and neglect filled my nostrils as shots rang through the air beyond the door. There was nothing I could do but stay trapped here forever, and no one would find me. I was running out of air, and I started to cry before I felt rough hands shaking me awake.

"He's having nightmares again." Steve informed my dad gruffly.

"Okay, I'll take care of him. Were you able to tube him?"

"Yeah. His veins are deep, but I found a good one. He's on fluids now. Maybe you should get him checked out by a shrink. Sixteen-year-olds shouldn't be having regular nightmares, Pony."

"I know, Steve; I'm worried about him. Thanks for all your help. Why don't you keep Soda company while I check on Johnny?" He shut the door behind him before climbing in bed next to me. "You doin' okay now?"

"I'm fine. They just won't go away."

"I know; you've had a rough life, kiddo, and it haunts you."

"I just wish it wouldn't." Dad squeezed me hard against his chest because I just couldn't quit shaking, and I let him hold me there till it calmed down. This ritual had started back when he and Mom first adopted me, but I was old enough to do my own laundry now. "Thanks, Dad."

"You're welcome. I wish you'd have told me that you felt sick, hon. I would've stayed home with you."

"I didn't want you to worry about me."

"It's a little late for that, I'm afraid." Dad chuckled ruefully, kissing my forehead. "I think your fever's going down."

"I can't tell." I complained, laying my head on his shoulder.

"Just get some sleep, Johnnycake. I'll be right here when you wake up."

This room wasn't mine, I knew that for a fact. There were quite a few times during the day that I'd mistake it for my own and be rewarded with a bump on my elbow or a tissue box knocked on the floor. _Dad must've brought me to his old house._ I thought, watching the light trace wavy lines through the blinds. I still felt dizzy and feverish, but I didn't feel half as sick anymore. Something Steve gave me had taken care of that. The sound of running feet and wild yelling roused me from Dad's shoulder. He stretched as I tried to sit up. "The hellions are home." He said, flexing his fingers.

"They'll probably come in here." I whispered, finding my multiple attempts to be useless.

"Not if Two-Bit or Soda has anything to say about it. You just need to focus on your sleep right now, Johnny; I know you haven't been getting enough lately. When you start to hold food down, we're gonna feed you too. You can't starve yourself anymore."

"How'd you know?"

"I know a Hell of a lot more than you give me credit for, young man. I just didn't know how bad it was until today. Steve said you've lost at least twenty pounds, and you were barely within your weight range to begin with. I know losing Mom has been really hard, but you need to take care of yourself, honey. I don't want you to die on me too." I felt his tears drip into my hair as he pulled me close. "Promise me you'll let me keep you safe." He whispered.

"I promise, Dad." I never broke a promise, if I could help it.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** ** _S. E. Hinton owns all rights to the characters in The Outsiders and her other stories, I only own my imagination. This Johnny (Johnny 2.0) is my own creation (along with Mikey, Dave, Shane, Pat, & Neil), though he was unashamedly inspired by Ms. Hinton's Johnny. Sorry about all the swearing, it fits Steve's character. Either Fox or CBS owns M*A*S*H*._**

It took a couple days before I'd recovered enough to hold solid food down, and I was finally sat in front of a bowl of oatmeal. "Eat this, it'll stick to your ribs." Steve said, handing me a spoon. I liked Steve. He was pretty rough around the edges, but he always seemed to keep his head unless he was pissed off. I think getting clean really helped him out. His son Dave, though, was another matter entirely. "Maybe you should feed it to him. I don't think the little pansy wants to eat anything."

"Oh, he'll eat all right. I'll make Two-Bit and Soda hold you down if you don't, Johnnykid. Dave, why don't you go do something productive, like shoving Mikey down a well, or something? Leave Johnny alone."

"Fine. But if he doesn't eat, I'm feeding him."

"Fuck off, kid. Sorry, my son's an asshat."

I didn't say anything, but I picked up the spoon and stirred the food around the bowl, flinching when Steve grabbed it from me. "I said to eat it, not play with it. D'you want me to get your dad in here?"

"No."

"Okay, then do as I fucking tell you, and eat the goddamned oatmeal."

"Steve, lay off, he probably can't eat since you're yelling in his face." Two-Bit sauntered in and leaned over the back of a chair. "Go ahead, Johnnycake, he won't bother you anymore."

The first bite was the hardest. I didn't know how much I should take, or if I should take any at all. When I'd put it in my mouth, I gagged slightly out of a reflex. I swallowed, but I wasn't happy about it. This was wrong, it wasn't fair to Mom. If she couldn't eat, why should I? I put the spoon down and pushed the bowl away. "See? What'd I tell you? That little brat would rather starve himself than eat a meal." Dave taunted through an open window.

"Stuff it, Dave. Look, kid, if you don't eat, the hospital will put a tube in your stomach. I know for a fact that you wouldn't want that, so please just humor us and finish that food." Steve picked the spoon back up and attempted to feed me, but I wouldn't open my mouth. I'd eaten one bite, and that was enough. "Damn it, Two-Bit, come over here and feed this kid. I'm gonna go talk with his dad." Steve stormed off into another part of the house while Two-Bit took his place.

"You think you can eat one more bite, Johnnycake?" I shook my head. "Why not?"

"I can't."

"Why can't you?"

"I just can't."

"D'you feel sick again?"

"No."

"Then eat."

"But I can't eat when she's not here!" I started crying, but I didn't care. I missed my mom, and I couldn't eat without her.

Two-Bit nodded, pushing the bowl further away, and he draped his arm around my shoulders. "I get it now, it isn't worth eating without your mom around. It'll be okay, kiddo. It'll all be okay." Steve reentered the room with my dad close behind. "What happened here?"

"It's because of Cathy. The poor kid can't eat because he's grieving."

"That's a weird way to take it." Steve scoffed.

"I'm gonna take him over to Soda, then you and I are gonna have a talk, Pony." Two-Bit whispered.

"Okay." My dad snatched me up in a hug before I left, but I could tell he was disappointed.

I didn't hear what they said; I just laid my head in Uncle Soda's lap for nearly the whole time. He'd started rubbing my back, which made me feel a little better. We never had to say much of anything; we just got each other. He silently offered me a drink from his mug when I sat up after a while. I took a swig, knowing its contents were spiked, but I didn't mind. The alcohol would take the edge off my nerves. "You should eat something, Johnnycake. You're gettin' too thin." He chided, turning the TV down.

"If I could eat, I would."

"You don't wanna end up like me, hon." I didn't know what he meant until he produced a faded photograph from his jacket pocket. "Guess who the stick figure is."

"You?"

"I'd gotten malaria, or somethin' before I came back, so I was really underweight when I landed in Tulsa. I couldn't hardly stand up when I got home, and it took almost two years for me to put on more weight. I even went to the hospital for a while because that was the only way they could feed me. You're real young yet, so it shouldn't be too much of an issue for you, but you've gotta eat. I can feel your ribs sticking out." He lit a cigarette and handed it to me.

"Soda, don't get him started on those. I know you've been letting him drink too." Dad sat down beside us, slipping his hand over mine.

"Maybe you should've told me that seven years ago, Pony. There's nothing I can do about it now, the kid's got good taste."

"You started smoking when you were nine, Johnnycake?"

"I don't smoke a whole lot. Just when I get nervous." I mumbled around the cancer stick. _I wonder how much more trouble I'll get into today._ My thoughts griped.

"Fine, just don't blame me when we're both dying from lung cancer." Dad took the cigarette from my mouth and took a few drags. "Damn, these are the nice ones. No filters."

"They're the real deal all right." Uncle Soda confirmed. "I got those in 'Nam, back before they took 'em out of the rations. My favorites were the Lucky Strikes- they always tasted like the Chiclets."

"Oh, here, Johnnycake, try eating this." Dad pushed a bowl of applesauce into my hand. "I know you can't stand oatmeal, so I thought this'd be nice for you."

"Thanks. Hey, this is the episode with Patrick Swayze, isn't it?" I loved watching old _M*A*S*H*_ reruns with Uncle Soda and Dad; that show was one of the many things we bonded over.

"Yep, here, Soda'll turn it up." He said.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** ** _S. E. Hinton owns all rights to the characters in The Outsiders and her other stories, I only own my imagination. This Johnny (Johnny 2.0) is my own creation (along with Mikey, Dave, Shane, Pat, & Neil), though he was unashamedly inspired by Ms. Hinton's Johnny. This chapter has a very slight mention of animal cruelty, but it's there to advance a character arc. I apologize if I've offended anyone, I honestly don't mean to. _**

"Why are Uncle Pony and Johnny still here? Don't they have their own house to mess up?" Mikey groused. My cousins, as a rule, had never liked me well. Dad says it's because I'm too shy.

"Quit bellyaching and go do your homework, young man! You have enough schoolwork to keep you occupied till kingdom come. And don't think you can just 'lose' your papers either; I'm getting wise to you and Pat. You don't wanna end up in prison like your brother Shane."

"Okay, fine." Mikey grabbed my elbow. "But I want you gone by the time dinner's ready." He hissed. I didn't look up at him. Even though he's two years younger than me, he freaks me out. Once, he had a pet turtle that he liked to play with all the time. Well, when I'd finally gotten the nerve to tell him how much I liked it, he took it out of its shell. I think he did it to spite me, but I don't know why. I don't remember if I ever did anything cruel to him. Pat came in next, laughing with Dave and Neil, who is Two-Bit's son. "Hey, I thought y'all left hours ago. What gives?" He asked breathlessly.

" _M*A*S*H*_ was on." Dad said, fashioning a paper football from old gum wrappers.

"Just don't let the door hit ya on the way out." He replied, punching me in the shoulder. The other two messed my hair up and pinched my cheek. I heard them whispering and snickering as they walked down the hall, and I knew they were talking about me. They always do when we stay over. I poked Dad's hand to get his attention. "Could we please go now?" I mouthed, glancing at the others, who were watching us from the safety of one of the bedrooms.

"In a sec, okay? Hold your hands up." Dad shot the paper football, but it didn't quite reach the goalposts.

The house smelled stale, since we hadn't bothered to open any windows before we left, and I caught a faint whiff of Mom's perfume as I paused by the coat rack. "I hate it when they do that to me." I rubbed my cheek, which had turned slightly red.

"Maybe if you started kicking ass and taking names, it wouldn't be as bad, Daniel-san." Dad joked, messing up my hair even worse. He rarely used that nickname for me, but when he did, it always made me feel better.

"If Mr. Fujita knew karate, I could probably do his housework in exchange for lessons." I grinned at the thought of my unassuming math teacher instructing me in the art of self-defense.

"That's the spirit! Just have a few training montages, and you'll totally be ready to win that tournament. He might even help you understand the logic involved in those quadratic equations you've been struggling with. Want stir-fry for dinner?"

"Sure."

I wasted no time hopping in the shower. All my problems evaporated with the steam, and I was truly relaxed for the first time in three days. Also, it was nice to finally wash my hair after being sick for so long. I shed hair like a dog in the summertime, though. It's a minor miracle that I haven't lost all of it yet. Instead of getting back into my clothes, I pulled on some sweats and slippers. I wanted to be comfortable after the uncomfortable few days I'd spent at my uncles' house. I took Buttons to the table with me.

"Maybe you should've put a shirt on, son. Now I know why you almost flunked the Presidential fitness test." Dad observed wryly, plating my food for me.

"I'll never be able to outrun those Commie bastards, so I don't see why wearing a shirt would matter. This isn't _Red Dawn_." I was thinking of going to bed after dinner anyway, and I never wore a shirt in bed. It bothers me when the fabric creases my skin.

"I guess it isn't. Want more than this?"

"No, that's fine. Looks like we'll be noshing on this for quite a while, huh?"

"Yep." I hadn't meant to make him sad, but after seeing the look on his face, I didn't make eye contact with him for the rest of the night.

Bedtime was late, since I didn't feel like having more nightmares. So, I stayed awake attempting to catch up on my required reading. I hated _Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_ , and it was all I could do to plod along through it. I hadn't made too much progress, however, and I soon fell into a daze, wondering why I had to read that book in the first place. It was supposed to be a satire; satires don't need to be critically analyzed. Mom would've known how to make it fun. She was always helping me out if I didn't understand something. She was better at explaining things to me than Dad was.

I burrowed under the covers after throwing the book across the room, holding Buttons close, and remembered back to the months before Mom died. There had been endless chemo treatments and surgeries, but the doctors just weren't able to beat the cancer into remission. I guess uterine sarcoma is pretty rare and hard to cure, and she was too far gone by the time anyone realized what was wrong. She'd been a shadow of her former self when hospice took over. She was so thin, and all her lovely hair was gone- she'd taken to wearing hats and scarves to cover up the hair loss, but it just wasn't the same. She was smiling even at the end, though, which was typical of Mom. The last thing she ever did was wish me good night and give me a kiss. It still makes me cry whenever someone says good night to me. Dad doesn't anymore. He knows how much it hurts.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** ** _S. E. Hinton owns all rights to the characters in The Outsiders and her other stories, I only own my imagination. This Johnny (Johnny 2.0) is my own creation (along with Mikey, Dave, Shane, Pat, & Neil), though he was unashamedly inspired by Ms. Hinton's Johnny. Sorry that this chapter gets a little heavy, I felt that some grievances needed to be aired._**

Life went on despite my illness, and I was bogged down with homework for what felt like a millennium. Three math assignments- two to three pages each, a science project that everyone else had already made considerable headway on, a history report on the importance of the Great Schism, an English essay on the symbolism within _Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_ , and studying for an oral exam in Spanish were all on the agenda, along with current homework. Needless to say, I pulled many late-nighters.

"Maybe we should put you in remedial math, kiddo, I don't even understand half the mistakes you made." Dad chewed on a thumbnail, scowling in frustration at my latest completed make-up assignment.

"That makes two of us." I laid my head on my arms, really wishing I could go to bed. I'd had nightmares again for the past few nights, and I needed sleep.

"I'll try to set up an appointment with your guidance counselor. Maybe she'll know what to do. For now, get going on that English paper. I want it in the basket first thing tomorrow morning."

"Okay, Dad." I yawned. This was gonna be fun.

I had English for my first class, which meant that Dad and I usually walked together. I hated having him as my teacher, so I kept my mouth shut and prayed that no one noticed. The rest of school was torturous enough without having other kids think I was the teacher's pet. I dropped the finished essay into the basket as I walked to my desk. Dad was on the phone with someone; a parent most likely, but I never socialized much with him at school anyway. At school, he was my teacher, not my dad. I took _Gone with the Wind_ out of my bag, and cracked it open to where I'd left off. The letter greeted me , folded into the crease, with the faded handwriting barely visible on the back side. I took it out to read instead. My hand trembled as I held the delicate paper, marveling at the words written within. They sounded like something I'd have said, honestly. I carefully stowed the letter back into its place, shutting the book so it'd be safe. I wouldn't want to lose it.

Dad had watched the whole scene unfold in quiet fascination. Our eyes met briefly, a look of understanding flickering between our gazes. We said nothing, though I could tell he wanted to, because a few more students entered the room. He slipped an old notebook into my bag as I left for my next class, making it look like I'd dropped it. I wondered about it for the entire day, even to the point of not realizing I'd been called on in history class. _She's never called on me before, why'd she have to start now?_ I mentally balked while I muttered a half-hearted "I dunno," much to the class's amusement. If they wanted to think I was stupid, I'd let them, but I was mortified when they laughed at me.

On the drive home, I didn't bring anything up. Dad seemed distracted, and I disliked car conversations. I was much more comfortable talking things over without the threat of veering into streetlights. Once we got home, however, it was the same song, second verse. Dad was enveloped in another phone call and I couldn't talk to him. I shuffled off to my room, feeling lonely. My science project was coming along nicely and I had no other homework, so I decided to read through the notebook Dad had given me. It turned out that his handwriting had actually gotten worse with age. I was surprised at the quality of the penmanship, since it looked more like doctor's writing now. "'When I stepped into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I only had two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home…'" Yep, that sounded like Dad all right. I read on until I noticed him sitting on my bed.

"Oh! What are you doing here?" I'd gotten to the part where Johnny had killed that Soc, and I was a little jumpy.

"I live here, and I thought you might like to talk. Sorry for freaking you out, I didn't mean to surprise you." Dad smiled apologetically.

"It's okay, I just got lost." I bookmarked the page with a paperclip.

"So, you wanna ask me any questions?"

"Why'd you pick me out of all the other kids in that orphanage?" I knew I reminded him of Johnny, but I wanted to hear him say it.

"Mom wouldn't quit raving about you after she first saw you. I figured she had good taste, and I was right."

"But there were plenty of other kids just like me there. You chose me for a reason, and I wanna know why. Is it because I remind you of your buddy?"

Dad didn't answer me, he just stared at his hands for a long time. "You know, I always thought I could fly when I was little. I thought that if I just took some rope, a laundry basket, and a picnic blanket, I'd go sailing away the next time the wind blew. Now I realize that isn't the case at all."

"I'm not mad at you." I mumbled, knowing it wouldn't have mattered anyway. He hadn't heard me.

"I also thought that if I adopted you, it'd be like Johnny never left. Like he hadn't killed Bob, and everything would go back to normal. But for all your similarities, you're a completely different person. I should've realized that in the beginning; and for that, I'm sorry. We set ground rules before adopting you, your mom and I did, and broke one right away. I've lived with you for twelve years, never once admitting to myself that you were just a replacement for my dead friend; and I know that a simple apology won't even begin to cover something like that, but it's all I've got." He looked at me with tears in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Johnnycake."

Now it was my turn to be speechless. He'd treated me differently than everyone else for all those years, and I hadn't known. No wonder my cousins hated my guts. I fished a pack of cigarettes out of my pocket and lit one. I'd been spoiled to the point of being mollycoddled, and I hadn't figured it out until he told me so. I was even smoking in front of him, and he didn't seem to care. I dropped the cigarette in a glass of water. "You know, I've always wondered why the rest of the kids couldn't stand me. Now I know why, but we can fix it." I studied the pack of cigarettes in my hand. "You really shouldn't let me smoke."

"Maybe I should force you to go make five new friends as punishment." He'd started to laugh.

"How about I start small? I'll try making friends with Mikey."

"Good luck with that, he's kind of a brat, bud."

"So were you." I tapped the notebook with a smirk.

"Don't you speak to me that way; I'm your dad, for God's sake!" He scolded, but he fought to keep the laughter out of his voice.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** ** _S. E. Hinton owns all rights to the characters in The Outsiders and her other stories, I only own my imagination. This Johnny (Johnny 2.0) is my own creation (along with Mikey, Dave, Shane, Pat, & Neil), though he was unashamedly inspired by Ms. Hinton's Johnny. And the heaviness continues. When will it end? I have no clue._**

The next time we went over to Uncle Darry's house was for Pat's and Uncle Soda's birthday. _Just like the first time._ I thought, steeling my nerves for the inevitable insanity that would ensue as soon as we stepped through that door. "Is their house ever quiet?" I asked, grabbing one of the presents from Dad's arms.

"Nope. It never has been, except for that time when I was sick before the trial. That's the only time I ever remember it being completely silent in the house."

"Would you ever move back?"

"I can't say that I haven't thought about it. It'd be crowded, though, with everyone there."

"That's okay. I don't like living at our place much."

"Neither do I, bud." Dad herded me into the living room, where I sat down after putting the gift on the coffee table.

"Hey, they're finally here! That means it's cake time, guys." Two-Bit hollered, making me and Uncle Soda flinch. "Oh, sorry, Soda. I didn't see you there."

"That's okay, Captain. I think you scared Pvt. Johnnycake here more than you did me." He winked at me, handing me a thickly folded piece of paper.

"Sorry, Private. I forgot you were jumpy too."

"That's all right, Cap. I can take being scared once in a while. That's why I'm here."

"Yeah, we're all pretty freaky, huh. Mikey, why don't you sit next to Johnny? I'm sure he'd like it."

"I don't think so." One look from Uncle Darry changed his mind, but it didn't change his tune. I offered him a weak smile, just to see what he'd do. He glared at me, so I slid closer to Uncle Soda.

"Hey, open the paper." Uncle Soda prodded my arm. I unfolded it to find it blank. Taking out a pen, I wrote a message: _Sorry for seeming like such a jerk. Can you forgive me? Is something wrong? You look sad._ And handed it to Mikey. He tilted his head to size me up, then took the pen: _That's the first thing you've actually said to me. I just miss my bro. He called yesterday, but I guess he isn't getting out anytime soon._ He passed me the pen.

 _Can y'all go visit him? I know the feeling; I miss my mom._

 _No, he's locked up tight. They won't even let my dad see him. I miss Aunt Cathy too. She was really nice. Sorry about last week, I was just mad because you got all the attention. D'you want cake?_

 _Yeah, I do._ He smiled at me and I thought I'd made a friend.

We went off to his bedroom as soon as all the presents had been opened, and I learned that he shared one with both of his brothers. "Shane used to have that bed, but of course he doesn't sleep there now. Come here for a sec, I wanna show you something." He dug around beneath his bed, sneezing a couple times from all the dust. "Remember that turtle I used to have?"

"Yeah." I didn't want to think of that poor turtle.

"Well, I kept a few pictures of it. Want one?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Maybe this was all a joke. Making friends with Mikey had been too easy.

"I guess I just wanted to make it up to you. I thought you were a spoiled jackass till you sent me that note. I didn't think you cared about us at all."

"Really?" A red flag was up now, there was no way this was genuine.

"Yeah. We all think you're stuck up 'cuz you don't talk to us at all. Pat said he's tried getting you to do stuff with him, Dave, and Neil, but you never go along with it." The 'stuff' they'd wanted me to do usually involved something dangerous, disgusting, dumb, or all three. There was no way they'd get me to eat fire ants or peek into a rattlesnake nest, unless they held me down like they'd done for the scorpion incident.

"Well, my dad's pretty strict. I can't just run off all the time, you know?" A tremor crept into my voice, and I coughed to cover it up. Something in his gaze told me I should leave fast. I slowly moved toward the door, turning to open it.

"Where d'you think you're going, Johnny?" The soft snick of a switchblade behind me stopped me dead. "I still wanna get to know you; aren't we having fun?" I started as the cold steel blade was pressed gently against my carotid artery. "I wouldn't make another move if I were you. There sure is a lot of blood in people."

"Mikey, don't, please? It's Pat's and Uncle Soda's birthday, and I wouldn't wanna take all the attention away from them." My ploy didn't work, his breath was hot and even on my neck.

"Oh, you won't. Not if you know what's good for you, anyway. Sit down next to me."

I did as he commanded, hoping that he couldn't tell I was trembling. I felt my own switch in my jacket pocket, but I couldn't get to it. He'd see if I made any movement at all. "You don't belong here, Johnny." Mikey remarked. There was almost a hint of tenderness in his voice, but I knew he was trying to get my guard down. "You weren't supposed to be adopted; you weren't even supposed to exist in the first place, were you? I know all about it. Shane and Pat told me how your parents were druggies, and how they died. I bet you wish you could've too, Johnny. Maybe if they'd seen you, the dealers would've killed you too. It would've been worth it." His soliloquy was broken by a tap on the door.

"Hey, why don't y'all come out and socialize with us for a bit? You've been in there an awful long time." I couldn't tell whose voice it was, but I had a feeling it might've been Steve. Now was my chance. I gave a long low whistle, but even before I'd gotten the high note out, he'd opened the door. "What's goin' on in here, Mikey?" he demanded, as I sneaked out from behind him. Mikey's eyes burned into my back as I left, and I quickly sat between Uncle Soda and my dad, clutching my switch in a quivering death grip.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** ** _S. E. Hinton owns all rights to the characters in The Outsiders and her other stories, I only own my imagination. This Johnny (Johnny 2.0) is my own creation (along with Mikey, Dave, Shane, Pat, & Neil), though he was unashamedly inspired by Ms. Hinton's Johnny. I always liked Matt Dillon's interpretation, if you will, that Dallas was nominally Catholic. I will, therefore, be taking that idea and running with it in this chapter. (Don't groan, I know it's not book accurate, but I've been so faithful that I feel okay to use a bit of the filmverse in my story. Please leave all flames inside the church, we don't want Jerry getting burned.)_**

I never said anything about what happened in that room, so when we moved in with Uncle Darry and company after a couple months, I was forced to play pretend. Steve sometimes looked at me funny, like he knew there was something I wasn't saying, but I didn't take the bait. I couldn't talk about that experience now that Mikey was too close for comfort. Dad and I shared a room, and as a result, Uncle Soda took the couch, which suited him fine. He couldn't sleep much anyway; Two-Bit says he gets real bad nightmares and flashbacks.

I never figured out why we moved out, but if I had to wager a guess, I'd say that the house was just too full of sad memories. We'd kept it the way Mom left it, and it eventually wore us down. I kept thinking she'd just walk through the door on any given day. So, we sold everything we didn't need or want, and moved in with the rest of the family. Dad was right, it was cramped. We shared a twin bed, which sucked, because he kicks in his sleep and I have constant nightmares. We make a lovely couple, really.

Mikey played the part of the angel too well, but the scary thing was that most everyone was fooled. He forced me to go everywhere with him, and I know it was because he wanted to keep an eye on me. I got the message loud and clear, and convincingly portrayed a devoted best buddy. I took a few cues from Dad's friend Johnny, and it worked like a charm. I just wish I could be tough enough to wallop that little bastard. He looks too much like my dad, otherwise I would.

One wintery day, I was fishing around for a coat to wear when I pulled out a brown leather jacket with yellow wool inside. It was charred black across the back, but I didn't mind. It'd be warmer than my denim. I slipped it over my other jacket, finding that it swallowed me whole, but glory, it was warm. I put Buttons in the large inside pocket. I didn't trust leaving him around the house, and no one would know anyway.

"Where'd you find that, Johnnycake?" Dad stuttered, looking like he'd seen a ghost. He'd almost dropped the paper into his coffee.

"It was with all the rest of your coats. D'you mind if I wear it? I don't have one." I knew whose it was immediately.

"No. Just be nice with it; it was a gift."

"I will."

I scrunched through the frosty grass, wishing I had boots instead of canvas sneakers. They'd keep my toes warm. "Hey, Johnny, come over here for a sec!" Mikey called, his words crackling in the chilly air. I walked over to them, pushing my hands in the pockets of Dallas's jacket to look tough. "Nice jacket. Too bad you can't keep it."

"It's mine, Mikey, you can't have it."

"I think this says I can." My eyes widened as his switch flicked open in broad daylight. He seemed indifferent that he was showing his hand. Steve sprinted toward us then, eyes blazing in anger.

"D'you really think it's okay to pull blades on people?! Johnny, get in the truck." He started in on a lecture after I'd bundled into the safety of his pickup. I locked the doors just in case the others wanted to try anything. There were flowers in the middle seat, and once Steve got in, he informed me that I'd be accompanying him to the cemetery. "Dally would've gotten a kick outta seeing you in his old jacket. Have you checked the pockets yet?"

"Only the inside one. Why? Did you leave something in there?" I joked, watching the sparkling patches of grass whizz by.

"No, I just thought that he might've. Check the top right one. He was always leaving stuff in there."

I wriggled my hand into the pocket with a bit of difficulty, but soon produced a silver medal of St. Christopher. "Is this what you were looking for?" I wondered, turning the tarnished necklace idly in my hands.

"Yeah, actually it was. Put it on, but keep it under your shirt. Those kids have been jumping at the bit to snatch anything they can from you."

"Why don't they like me, Steve? Did I do something wrong?"

"I can't figure that out either, kid. My guess would be because we all like you. You're Soda's favorite, which might make them jealous. Neil and Dave are jerk-offs, though. I wouldn't even try to get them to like you, it's not worth it. What's your side of the 'best bud' relationship like? It looks a bit forced to me."

"Oh, you know, when you're threatened with a blade pressed against your carotid, you tend to do everything for the one holding the knife."

"That's kinda what I thought. You still have yours?"

"Yep. " I patted the lower right hand pocket on the leather jacket.

"Good. Keep it handy, you may need it someday."

We left the truck running because we weren't gonna stay too long. I watched Steve place the flowers, his breath crystallizing in smoky puffs. I lit a cigarette. My dad hadn't taken them away, and I wasn't about to throw them out either. I liked how they made me look tough. "Okay, that's that. You wanna say or leave anything, Johnny?"

"Thanks for the jacket, Dally, I'll get that medal polished as soon as I can." I don't know how my dad does it- he's able to talk to these guys with no problem. My words were eaten up by the gravestones. I dug a couple cigarettes out of the carton. "Have these too, it's colder than a witch's tit out here."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** ** _S. E. Hinton owns all rights to the characters in The Outsiders and her other stories, I only own my imagination. This Johnny (Johnny 2.0) is my own creation (along with Mikey, Dave, Shane, Pat, & Neil), though he was unashamedly inspired by Ms. Hinton's Johnny. The opinions espoused by Soda do not reflect my own concerning soldiers. He's just jaded. Here's a Dallas type character for you, since I just can't have Johnny without him. It's like eating SPAM without frying it first. (Yes, I did just make that comparison. It's good, trust me.)_**

Uncle Soda's head snapped to attention when I wandered out after a nightmare. "Two o'clock, and all is well." I whispered.

"Lie down right here, soldier. Did I ever tell you how I deal with my nightmares?" he held an arm out, spreading the blanket over me too.

"No, I didn't know until Captain Mathews mentioned it, sir." I liked playing along with the war theme. I knew I'd never actually go to war, but the little game helped us all cope with our problems.

"Well, I have 'em too, and they get worse than yours, trust me. What really helps is watching those infomercials."

"The ones they show right about now?"

"Exactly. I used to watch the test patterns before TV became an all night broadcast. Infomercials give my eyes something to focus on besides color bars."

"I don't deal with mine. I haven't figured out how yet."

"You also haven't figured out how to quit sucking your thumb when you sleep, so I'm not surprised. You'll know when the right cure comes along."

"How'd you know about that?"

"I watch you sleep sometimes." I wasn't creeped out at all by this, he probably was just standing guard like Steve or Two-Bit still did when he napped. "Don't worry, I won't let it get around."

"How do I make Dad quit kicking me?" My shin was pretty banged up, I'd checked it in the bathroom when I'd gone for some water.

"Kick him back." He must've felt the disbelief. "I'm serious, it works. If you kick him back, he'll cut it out." I snuggled close to him, listening to his heartbeat to relax.

"Why didn't you ever get married, Uncle Soda?" I was exhausted, but he humored me anyway.

"I thought I would once. She was beautiful- golden hair, eyes like cornflowers, and a heart of ice. Just like a porcelain doll, but I guess she thought I wasn't what she wanted."

"I'm sorry." I yawned softly, stretching a little as he rubbed my shoulders.

"I never found anyone else after that. I'd given her my heart, and she smashed it beneath her tiny feet. That's what ultimately made me go over to 'Nam. If she didn't want me, then she wouldn't have me. Sometimes I wish that I'd died over there. Dead soldiers get more respect than living ones. You should go to sleep, kiddo. You've got school in the morning."

I woke up the next morning feeling like I'd slept in a sauna. Both Dad and Uncle Soda were human heaters, so I hopped in the shower to wash off the sweat. My efforts were clumsy, though, because my right arm was asleep. I stood in front of the foggy mirror drying my hair, when I caught a better glimpse of the medal. It was double-sided. The reverse held an image of St. Anthony, the patron saint of finding lost things and people. _Maybe this is how I can find a friend._ I carefully combed through my hair, frowning as more of it stuck in the teeth than on my head. Thick hair is the pits sometimes.

Dad and I left early for school, so I didn't have to deal with Mikey until later. "Are you okay, Johnnycake? You look tired."

"I'm fine, just a little sleepy is all. I had a late night." Not to mention the huge purple bruise on my shin. That still ached like nobody's business.

"Did Soda help?"

"Yeah, lots. Did you know this was double-sided?" I held out the medal, watching it twist on the chain.

"I thought it was, but I never got close enough to see it in person. Dally was kinda intimidating."

"You seem to be on good terms with him now."

"My memory has softened him over the years. He was one stone grease, though. Grew up on the streets of New York, went to jail real young, and got tough early on. Nothing could touch him then." Dad trailed off, lost in thought. "Don't get that way, Johnny." He said, after a long time.

"You know I won't, Dad. I just wanna look tough so nobody messes with me."

"Boy, you couldn't look tough even if we made you up like James Dean. But that's okay, because you've got people who love you to pieces and that's all that matters."

"I know, it'd just be useful sometimes."

School was an endless flurry of activity, which meant I had no time to think about much of anything. In English, we started our next unit- the teenage experience through literature, and the book we were assigned was _The Outsiders_. Dad also partnered us up for a project right away. "Now, we won't work on it just yet, since I want y'all to actually read the book before doing the research." That got a few snickers from the smart kids. "However, I would like to partner y'all up so you can get to know someone you may never have thought of working with before. Dallas, you'll be partnered with Johnny…" And on the list droned. Dad gave me a quick smile once I looked up, and I knew he'd done it on purpose.

Dallas rarely showed up for class, but when he did, I made a point never to openly stare at him. He was a 'stone grease,' as my dad would say, and he scared me worse than Mikey could ever dream of. I heard that he'd once belted a kid for scuffing his boot on accident. He was cleaning his fingernails with a switch during the partner roll call, but he glanced my way briefly before returning to his work. His eyes were gunmetal blue. At lunch, I skirted the edge of the cafeteria, looking for a spot to sit, when I felt a rough hand on my shoulder. It was Dallas, and I figured he meant business, so I followed him without a word to the smoker's pit.

The smoker's pit was always deserted, since no one was allowed to smoke on school property anymore, but I got the feeling that it was an area that Dallas liked to frequent. He lit up and passed the cancer stick to me, waiting to see what I'd do. Of course I took it, I needed something to calm my nerves, and I handed it back after a couple drags. "You're okay, for a teacher's kid." He remarked, sizing me up.

"Thanks." I mumbled, feeling my face get hot. He wouldn't quit staring at me.

"Y'know, I didn't think I'd show up today. There was a huge rager last night and I drank a little too much, you dig?"

"Yeah." I kicked a stray pebble with my toe. Why was he telling me this? Did he think I cared what he did on his own time?

"So imagine my surprise when I not only come to school hung-over, but I also get assigned to do a project with the teacher's kid. Some luck, huh?"

"Mine's always been pretty bad, so I dig."

"You got a name? I don't remember it."

"Johnny. It's Dallas, right?" I asked nervously, licking my bottom lip.

"Yeah. You're better than I am, kid." He smirked at me, pushing his dark hair away from his face. "Got anything else I can call you?"

"'Kid' works fine. Most of my handles are pretty long."

"Okay, kid, call me Dal."

"Okay, Dal."

"You dig okay, kid." We finished smoking in silence, but I wasn't as scared of him anymore. I think he might've been my first friend.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** ** _S. E. Hinton owns all rights to the characters in The Outsiders and her other stories, I only own my imagination. This Johnny (Johnny 2.0) is my own creation (along with Mikey, Dave, Shane, Pat, & Neil), though he was unashamedly inspired by Ms. Hinton's Johnny. Just when I let you think something good's gonna happen, I sucker punch you right in the gut. Sorry._**

Dallas and I turned out to be pretty good partners, though we didn't get a whole lot done on the project. We mostly just talked whenever he bothered showing up. He was tuff, and I often found myself wishing I could be just like him. I'd stopped at the cemetery one day to put out some new flowers, and was in the process of scrounging up a dollar, when a familiar lanky figure came striding towards me. "Whatcha doin', kid?" He asked with that perpetual smirk on his face.

"Oh, these are a couple of my dad's friends. He couldn't make it today, so I said I'd go. I don't think they like me too well."

"Kid, you're a few cents short of a Benjamin, you know that? Dead people don't talk back." Dallas studied the worn stones for a while before softly remarking, "They died the same day."

"Yeah. That one, Dally, was a real wild card, but when his buddy Johnny died, he broke. Suicide by cop, I think."

"How'd the other kid die?"

"He was burned real bad when saving some kids from a fire; broke his back too. He and my dad were tight. It broke him up something fierce."

"You named after that Johnny cat?"

"Nope. I was adopted because I remind my dad of his buddy. I guess that's his way of dealing with the pain."

"That's kinda morbid, kid. Wanna go to a movie? It might lighten you up."

"Yeah, just a sec." I'd finally found all the coins in my pocket and poured them into the potting soil. "Okay, let's go, Dal."

His old beater was parked near the entrance to the cemetery, and I had to wonder if he knew I'd be there. He had an uncanny knack for knowing exactly where I'd be at any given time, and if I didn't know better, I'd say he was stalking me. I bet he can pick me out a mile away. I wrapped the frayed seatbelt across my lap, but the buckle didn't work, so I tucked it behind my hip to make it seem like I was safe. I don't think anybody would've cared. He slouched down in the driver's seat and stuck a cigarette in his mouth. "Got a light, kiddo?" I struck a match on the bottom of my shoe and leaned toward him with it. After it lit, I threw it out the window, and he blew smoke in my face, laughing. I always liked it when people did that.

We silently shared the smoke till it was gone, then he started asking questions. "Hey, who's that kid that you're with all the time?"

"One of my cousins. Why?" I didn't want to talk about Mikey, or my home life, but it was unavoidable with Dallas.

"'Cuz he looks like a major psycho. I thought you might need protection."

"I got a blade too. It ain't much, but it'll work."

"I know, but you need somebody else there. He takes advantage of you."

"How d'you know so much about me?"

"We're neighbors. Y'know that cracker box next to your place?"

"Yeah." It was pretty crummy looking, I'd thought for the longest time that it was abandoned.

"That's my place. I live there with my old man, some stray cats, and an endless supply of cancer sticks and booze." _That explains a lot_. I thought, looking out the window.

The movie we'd gone to see was nothing to write home about, it mostly gave us an excuse to go somewhere by ourselves for a while. I don't even remember what it was called, to be honest. I was busier studying Dallas's profile in the light on the screen. He winked at me when he caught me staring. Lord, but he was handsome. He had fine smooth features, like sculpted marble, and a long straight nose that dipped downward slightly at the tip. It had probably been broken at least a few times. He didn't appear to be watching the film at all, for his gaze peered through the screen, as though it were glass. He was letting me stare.

He dropped me home a few hours after the movie, but we arranged to meet the next day in an old lot. We still had lots of things to discuss. When I entered the house, I wasn't surprised to find mayhem everywhere, but the weird thing was that it stopped as soon as they all saw me. "Where have you been, young man?" Dad demanded, looking upset and frazzled.

"I, um, went to see a movie." I'd never seen Dad so angry before, and I was trying hard to keep calm.

"With whom?"

"Dallas. He met up with me at the cemetery, and we saw…something, I can't remember."

"Why don't you go to bed and stay there until you do remember?" He was shaking, but his voice was soft. I sneaked past him, but as I opened the door to our room, he caught me by the elbow. "Don't you _ever_ do that again." He breathed, clutching my arm in a vice grip.

I didn't understand why everyone was so on edge until I saw the phone. Then, it dawned on me, and my thoughts began a tirade. _You forgot to let them know, you_ idiot _! You know better than that, and you screwed up royally this time. He probably won't even let you out of his sight tomorrow, unless you're with Mikey, and you know how that'll end. Badly. Get some sleep, moron, you're gonna need it._


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** ** _S. E. Hinton owns all rights to the characters in The Outsiders and her other stories, I only own my imagination. This Johnny (Johnny 2.0) is my own creation (along with Mikey, Dave, Shane, Pat, & Neil), though he was unashamedly inspired by Ms. Hinton's Johnny. And the angst continues. Maybe I should get some meds- I heard they do wonders for people like me._**

It was midday when I woke up again, and Dallas had arranged to meet me at 1 PM down in that creepy looking lot. I threw some clothes on, grabbed my jacket, and was promptly escorted to the living room. "Welcome back, Johnnycake. Unfortunately, you won't be heading anywhere today because you're grounded for two weeks, so you can put your jacket away. Feel free to eat lunch, though." Dad was unusually chipper. I think he was enjoying himself a bit too much.

"I'm sorry that I didn't call, I forgot about it." I really was sorry, but I could tell he was skeptical.

"If you think that an apology is gonna let you waltz out with a 'get outta jail free' card, then, boy, you've got another thing coming." He laced his fingers around his coffee mug, knuckles whitened from the pressure of his grip.

"I was hoping you'd accept my apology instead of spitting it back in my face, Dad." My rejoinder came out much sharper than intended, but I was angrier than I thought. It wasn't fair that I'd get grounded over one forgotten phone call when the other guys could run wild doing God knows what.

"Don't get sassy with me, kiddo, I'm not the one who forgot to call yesterday. D'you realize how long we looked for you? It was over six hours before you came home, and we spent a good five and a half combing all of Tulsa, hoping you weren't dead or hurt. I'm glad you were safe, but you can't imagine the guilt I'd feel if you hadn't been."

"I was with Dallas the entire time; I know he wouldn't let anything happen to me, so would you please just back off? I didn't kill anybody yesterday, and nobody killed me. I'm fine; why won't you just trust me? I have a good head on my shoulders."

"I was worried sick when you didn't come home, Johnny! And when no one had heard a thing from you all day, I started to wonder what happened. You're just lucky we hadn't called the cops yet."

"Why were you so worried in the first place?! It's not like you worry about the others; I swear, you can't leave me alone for ten seconds without thinking I died, or something. I don't know what your deal is, Dad, but I'm sick of being smothered by everyone! First it was you, then Steve, then Mikey; I just can't get a break." I wanted to leave, but something in the way Dad looked at me made me stay put.

"My 'deal' is that I love you, and I just want to keep you safe. That's all I want, is for you to be safe, Johnnycake. I don't want you to be hurt anymore." He looked like he was gonna cry, and truth be told, I felt like bawling too. "I just wanna know that you're safe and sound."

"You sure have a funny way of showing it." I mumbled, wondering why he couldn't just let me alone for a while. I went back to our room and flopped on the bed, feeling strangely defeated. I flinched, quickly covering my ears as the coffee mug shattered in the sink. He'd been mad enough to break a mug on purpose. I'd never seen that side of him before, and I didn't think I wanted to, so I pulled the covers over my head, praying he wouldn't come after me too. He didn't. I heard the scrape of ceramic against steel after a long time, but I didn't hear anything else, since I cried myself to sleep.

The chaotic cacophony of everyone else's presence wasn't what ultimately roused me. The lack of light in the room did the job instead. I felt miserable as I stared at my watch. 6.02 PM. Dallas definitely wouldn't be waiting now. He was probably angry with me, to put it lightly. I felt a gentle hand stroking my hair, and I smiled, thinking it was Uncle Soda. "Are you still mad at me, Johnny?" Dad asked, much to my surprise.

"No, I guess not. Am I still grounded?"

"Yeah, but it's only for the rest of the weekend. I thought I'd let you off easy, since it was just one phone call. You're usually pretty good about remembering that stuff. Did you ever remember the movie you saw?"

"No, and I probably never will. I was distracted by something else the whole time."

"By the way, Dallas called."

"Is he mad at me? I was supposed to meet him today."

"No, I explained everything and he understood. Cussed up a blue streak, though."

"Sounds like something he'd do. He can cuss real good."

"So can Steve." Dad's quiet laughter was contagious. "I'm sorry that I flipped out on you."

"Don't be. If you didn't call for over six hours, I'd start to worry too. If anyone should be sorry, it's me. I was being kind of a brat. I didn't realize how freaked out you were."

"Trust me, you ain't got nothin' on the other kids when it comes to the scapegrace scale. They're worse than both of us combined." He cocked his head, listening to the commotion beyond the door. "I think we'd best stay here. I don't wanna give Mikey an opportunity to latch onto you anymore."

"Steve sang, huh?"

"Like a canary. I kinda wondered if something was up. I'll try to keep you two away from each other as much as possible from now on."

"Hey, Dad?"

"Yeah, bud?"

"Why'd you break that mug?" That question had been bugging me ever since I noticed his bandaged hands.

"You want the awful truth, or a comfortable lie?"

"I can take it." I held onto one of his hands, tracing the lines of gauze with my fingers.

"I was so mad at you that I couldn't see straight, and I knew that breaking that mug would be better than beating the tar out of you. I can always replace a mug, but I can't replace you. That's why I want so desperately to keep you safe. You're worth more than everything else I've got, and now that your mom's gone, we've gotta stick together."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** ** _S. E. Hinton owns all rights to the characters in The Outsiders and her other stories, I only own my imagination. This Johnny (Johnny 2.0) is my own creation (along with Mikey, Dave, Shane, Pat, & Neil), though he was unashamedly inspired by Ms. Hinton's Johnny. Yay, a happy chapter! It was a long time coming, but now it's here!_**

"What's our topic, kid?" Dallas was sharpening his switch, so I knew he wasn't too interested to begin with.

"The socio-economic differences between greasers and Socs and the echoes of that rivalry within our modern community." I read, stumbling over the larger words.

"Sounds like a bunch of B. S. to me." he took the paper from me, read it, knit his brows together in thought, then gave up. "It's airtight, no wiggle room. We can't get outta this one, kid."

"Well, crap. I guess now we have to go interview people."

"Unless we want to B. S. something ourselves. What'd your dad say about going with me this weekend?"

"I haven't had a chance to talk to him yet. He's been real busy with things ramping up for Christmas break and all."

"Well, gimme a ring when you do, my old man won't give a rat's ass, so I'll be in the clear. Now, let's see if we can get this project going, huh?"

A few hours later at the library, I still didn't care about that school project, and neither did Dallas. He was chain-smoking and trying to blow perfect smoke rings while attempting to not get caught. My head swam from the small type on the microfiche newspaper clippings that were more of a hindrance than they were worth. "I think they should've organized these better. I'm not finding a damned thing in here."

"D'you kiss your mom with that mouth?" Dallas laughed, shaking his head. I'd broken his concentration, but I don't think he cared. This was the first time he'd really heard me cuss. He had a beautiful laugh.

"I did, but she never caught on." I missed my mom still; I don't think I'll ever fully accept that she's gone. It hurts too much.

"What's got you all sad, kid? Did I say somethin' wrong?" He sat up in his chair and snubbed out the cigarette.

"This'll be the first Christmas without her. It just dawned on me." A couple tears slipped down my cheek despite my best efforts, and I angrily rubbed them away. I hated crying in front of people, it made me feel like I was five all over again.

"It'll be okay, kid. My mom's been gone since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. She just up and left one day without sayin' goodbye or nothin'. She left me this, though." He drew a silver chain out from under his shirt. A simple crucifix dangled delicately from it, still lovely after all that time.

"I have a medal, see? It's not from my mom, but I think of her when I wear it. It keeps me safe." I showed it to him, and he gently unfastened the clasp to get a better look at it. His hands were warm.

"This looks pretty old, kid. You should get some polish for it, that'll make it look real sharp." He returned the medal to my neck, brushing my hair out of my eyes before he sat back. "Can't keep that hair back to save your life." He smiled fondly at me, handing me a hankie. "Dry your face off, or those tear tracks will freeze."

I wondered why Dallas, who never did anything remotely related to school, if he could help it, was suddenly so interested in our project. It made no sense, and bugged me all the way home. Dad and Uncle Darry were stringing lights outside the house when I got out of Dal's car. "Hey, bud, how's the project coming?" Dad called.

"Not real good. I couldn't find anything worth writing about in those newspapers. I think you gave us the hardest topic on purpose."

"And what if I did?" He'd descended the ladder now and walked over to me, grinning like an old tom cat.

"Well, I just think two weeks isn't enough time to finish it, that's all."

"This unit won't be done until the summer hits. We're gonna go through all of Hinton's novels, so don't worry about it for now. How's your buddy?"

"He's okay; wants me to go with him out to the country this weekend. You think I could go?" I asked, hoping he'd agree. I lit a cigarette and handed it to him.

"I don't know, Johnnycake. We'll be pretty busy here," Dad looked at Uncle Darry, who was nodding his head, trying to help my cause. "but I guess if you think you'll be okay, I don't see why it should be a problem. Just have fun, okay?"

"Okay." I gave him the biggest hug I'd ever given anyone, and ran next door to tell Dallas. He was sitting in the oak tree on his front lawn, chuckling to himself. "What's so funny?" I asked.

"Oh, nothing. I just thought you didn't like hugs."

"I don't, but he said it was all right if I came with you, and I thought that deserved a big one."

"We'll leave early tomorrow morning. How does 4 AM sound?"

"It sounds like I need to get ready, then."

We left at 4 AM, like Dallas said, and I wrapped up in that leather jacket before getting in his car. It felt colder than an icebox, but I was determined to keep warm. "The heater should be ready in a few minutes, just give it a little time to warm up." Dal shivered too, his breath freezing as he shuddered.

"Where exactly are we headed, Dal?"

"Windrixville. I wanted to see if anything's changed, and I knew you'd wanna come."

"Why're you bein' so nice to me?"

"Because I like you, kid. That's what people do when they like each other. I'm shocked that your cousin didn't stow away in the trunk, or somethin'."

"Dad and them have kept a real good distance between us. I don't think he'll bother me much anymore, now that he's goin' to an alternative school next year."

"I'll keep my eyes peeled, though. I don't want you gettin' hurt."

"That's what my dad says, too." I mumbled sleepily, curling up in the jacket.

"Get some sleep, okay, kid? We've got a long drive ahead of us." Dallas patted my knee, finally turning the heater on.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** ** _S. E. Hinton owns all rights to the characters in The Outsiders and her other stories, I only own my imagination. This Johnny (Johnny 2.0) is my own creation (along with Mikey, Dave, Shane, Pat, & Neil), though he was unashamedly inspired by Ms. Hinton's Johnny. Have another light chapter, you deserve it for slogging through the angst and sadness._**

When we stopped for gas, Dal shook me awake. "Hey, get out and stretch your legs, kid. I'm buying, if you want anything." I exited the car on wobbly legs, wincing as pins and needles raced up to my thighs. After a quick pit stop, I looked around for anything that caught my interest. There wasn't much; mainly junk food, booze, cigarettes, and pulp magazines that were six months old. I picked out a couple Dublin Dr Peppers, some smokes, and eight different types of candy. Laying them all on the counter, I waited while Dallas finished with the gas and came in to pay. "Are you eighteen?" the clerk eyed him suspiciously.

"Here's my ID." Dal shoved his wallet across the counter, the card within giving his age as twenty-one. I knew it was a fake, but I kept my mouth shut. I didn't feel like getting walloped today.

"What're y'all up to this early in the morning?" This clerk would've made a great inquisitor.

"My brother and I are fixin' to head out Windrixville's way. We've got some cousins down there." He bluffed, sounding as corn-poney as possible.

"Mmm. Have a nice time, then. You want a bag for all this?"

The car was warm as we got back in, and Dal peeled out, cussing that clerk till the station was well out of sight. "I can't believe he bought it! That fuckin' idiot actually thought we were related. Glory, if that ain't the funniest thing I've heard all week, I dunno what is." He would still laugh periodically, smirking as he remembered our ruse.

"How long till we get there, Dal?"

"It'll be a couple more hours yet. Hand me those M&Ms, would you? I'm starving."

"There's a Dairy Queen there, I think." I'd lit up, and cracked the window so the smoke wouldn't cloud up everything.

"Let's hope it's still in business after forty-some years."

"Why're you so interested in Windrixville? I thought you hated reading and stuff."

"I dunno, I guess somethin' about that book just grabbed me, you know? I couldn't get it outta my head. That sounds pretty fuckin' mental, huh?"

"Not really. Books do that to me all the time. I just don't read real fast, you know? I like it, though. My dad's a good reader."

"Does he still read you bedtime stories?"

"No, but he'll read the paper to me sometimes. There's some funny stuff that makes the news."

"Like what?"

"Once, there was a guy who was in a motel overnight, and he fell asleep smoking. Well, it wasn't an hour later, when he found that the couch was on fire, so he dragged it outside the motel and the firemen were able to put it out, no sweat."

"Was that here?"

"Yeah. It made the paper recently, and Dad and I about died laughing." I grinned at Dallas, who was having a hard time keeping his laughter at bay.

"Sounds like somethin' my old man woulda done, if he'd ever get sober long enough."

"What's he like?"

"Like all those stray cats at our place- mean, ornery, and generally no good unless he's fed or sleeping."

"I'm sorry."

"What's there to be sorry for, kid? He's my old man, not yours."

"I know, I just feel bad. My biological dad was like that."

"You remember those folks at all?"

"They're the reason I can't abide closets, the dark, or loud noises. They were shot by their dealers when I was four. I heard everything."

"Why did you live?"

"I almost didn't. My momma had locked me in a broom closet for a couple days, and when the police found me, I was in a real bad way." I squeezed the side of the jacket where Buttons was, then took him out. "This was all I had from them. I don't remember where I got it, but I think it was from one of the times she'd tried to sell me."

"I'm sorry, kid. I didn't know you'd had it rough too."

"It's fine now, I just have nightmares sometimes." I don't know why I was spilling my guts to him, but I did, and I held Buttons on my lap the rest of the way to Windrixville.

We hit Windrixville at about 8 AM, but we had to wait for a couple hours because nothing opened until 10. "Some town. I bet the worst they've ever had to worry about are runaway cows and tornadoes." Dal observed wryly.

"That's probably the most excitement they see in a year."

"Wanna see Jay Mountain before we eat? I think it's gonna be a while."

"Yeah, let's go." I agreed, shivering.

After getting directions from a local farmer, we were eventually headed the right way. Jay Mountain wasn't really a mountain, as it turned out. It was more like a big hill, but the path was real steep. We climbed to the top, but it took us a good forty-five to fifty minutes before we reached what remained of the church there. Only the floor and foundation were visible, weathered by four decades of neglect, but we looked around anyway. I found the old pump, tried it, and nothing came out. Maybe the well had dried up. We sat on a corner of the stone floor smoking, each of us lost in thought. I was thinking about my dad and his buddy Johnny. They must've felt so isolated up here, all by their lonesome and waiting for a rescue or cop car.

"It's nice here." Dallas's soft voice broke into my thoughts, startling me.

"Yeah, it's real pretty." I watched the frost glitter like spilled gems in the field below, sparkling in the weak winter sunlight. "Did you ever wanna put yourself in their shoes, like feel how they felt waitin' for a whole week? I bet they were scared outta their minds."

"Yeah, at first, but then you get bored waitin' around." He turned to face me. "Man, I wish this place was still standing, that way we could come here whenever we felt like it."

"'We'? You mean, you'd actually want me around?" I was shocked. I never thought someone like Dal would be caught dead with me, much less have a desire to stick around.

"Yeah, you dig okay, kid. I like that. You're the first kid who hasn't been scared of me."

"I was a little scared at first. I mean, I heard all the stories, and-"

"Most of those have been on the grapevine a little too long. They tend to grow bigger and badder with each person, you dig? I ain't that mean, but I like havin' those stories around so people don't mess with me." He came over to my corner and sat down, putting his arm around me. "They won't mess with you either, once it gets around that you're tagging along. Everybody and their mom's afraid of mean ol' Dallas."

"Does it get lonely?"

"What?"

"Bein' so tough all the time; does it get lonely? 'Cuz I get lonely sometimes." I looked down at my shoes, hoping I hadn't said something too strange. He thought for a long time.

"Yeah, it does get lonely, but I got you now, kid. We ain't gonna be lonely no more." He squeezed my shoulder and glanced at his watch. "I guess we should get somethin' to eat. Dairy Queen's open."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** ** _S. E. Hinton owns all rights to the characters in The Outsiders and her other stories, I only own my imagination. This Johnny (Johnny 2.0) is my own creation (along with Mikey, Dave, Shane, Pat, & Neil), though he was unashamedly inspired by Ms. Hinton's Johnny. I'm spoiling you guys with yet another light chapter. I hope you like it!_**

After we'd gotten our food, we stayed in the parking lot and divided everything up. We put about four barbecue sandwiches in a cooler in the back, and each ate two for breakfast. "You've got it all over your face, kid."

"So d'you, Dal." I blushed a little, running my sleeve across my mouth.

"Did you think they'd still be churning out burgers here after so long?"

"No, I thought they'd've grown a little, though. This must've been exactly what my dad saw."

"How'd he get that book written about him, anyway? Is that a writer's name he uses, or somethin'?" He asked, around a bite of sandwich.

"Nah, the author's actually a real sweet lady, and Dad gave her his essay to use for that book. He ran off a ditto for her, and I have the original now." I took a bite too, looking out the window as kids wandered the street, finally free from school. "What're we thinkin' of doin' later on?"

"I saw a motel a few clicks back. I thought we might stay there for the night, then go home tomorrow. I ain't too keen on drivin' any longer than I have to today. I wanna kick back and take it easy."

"Sounds good. Thanks for haulin' me along, Dal. I'd never have got to see this place otherwise."

"No problem, kid. You're a nice travel partner; I like hearing you talk. You come up with the most interesting stuff I've ever heard, and you sure do talk a whole lot for bein' a quiet kid. Keeps me entertained."

The motel looked as seedy as the run down movie theater back home. The décor was a strange mix of mid-century modern, art deco, wood paneling, and lodge furniture that probably hadn't seen a duster or vacuum in fifty years. It smelled like old cigarettes, dust, mold, and wet dog, but I couldn't see a dog anywhere. There was no one around, so Dal rang the bell, which echoed through the long entryway, and still nobody answered. "That's weird. Hey, do y'all make a point of having lousy customer service, or somethin'?" Dal hollered, though I knew no answer would come. I'd been idly flipping through the guest book, looking for the most current date. "Hey, Dal? C'mere for a sec."

"What's up, Buttercup?" He leaned on my shoulder, peering at the book.

"Look, this book hasn't been signed since the seventies. I think this place is abandoned."

"You might be right, but let's go check it out anyway, shall we? Grab a room key."

We wandered through the shadowy hallway, careful not to step on any weak flooring or breathe too deep. Black mold painted the walls, ceiling, and carpet, rendering it mushy beneath our feet. There was no sound, except our shoes squishing, as we crept through the darkness to the room I'd scavenged the key for. "Here it is, room twenty-two. Hand me the key and stand back, I dunno what's in there." Dallas said, pushing me back towards the wall. He worked the key into the lock with a little difficulty, but once he'd opened the door, I peeked beneath his arm to get a better look. The room didn't look half bad, considering how long this place had been neglected. There was a full bed in the middle of the room, and the blankets were thin and faded- their once cheerful colors long gone, the carpet was mushy still, but it was constantly humid outside, so that didn't surprise us, and there was a small bathroom with all the fixtures still intact. "No copper thieves? That's a nice change. I'm gonna go get those blankets from the back, you stay here, kid. Make yourself comfortable." Dal left me standing silently in the middle of the room, wishing I had a phone to call home. I missed everybody.

The homesickness gradually wore down as Dal and I made a makeshift covering for the bed. No animals had infested anything, so the worst that had happened was the natural decay of the furniture over thirty years, give or take. "You think there's water still?" I wondered, half-tempted to run the shower for kicks.

"You could try it, but I wouldn't bathe in it. Could be real nasty, or the pipes might be corroded." He smoothed down a rough wool blanket over the old feather pillows. I yanked hard on the faucet, but like the pump on Jay Mountain, nothing came out. It's just as well, I don't know what I'd have done if a gallon of red or black water would've sprayed in my face. I returned to the bed and stretched out on the blankets. "Nothing." I said matter-of-factly.

"Good, that means we'll be safe. I parked out back so the cops wouldn't see us from the road. I'm kinda surprised that they haven't tore this place down yet." He lit a cigarette, passing it to me.

"It's not the nicest thing to look at, that's for sure. No electric either. It's gonna get cold tonight."

"We'll be okay, kid, these blankets get real warm. Want something to eat?"

"Nah, I'm okay."

"I am too, you're just real skinny. Thought you might be hungry."

"I've always been that way." I shivered, and he scooted closer to me.

"I'll keep you warm, kid, don't worry." He let me fall asleep, kissing my forehead before dropping off himself. That was the first good night kiss I'd had since Mom died.

I woke up a couple times during the night expecting my dad to be there, but it was just Dal and me each time. And each time, I laid my head on his shoulder. He wasn't fat by any means either, but his shoulders were more comfortable than the pillows. He'd run his fingers through my hair when he woke up, and kiss my forehead when he'd go back to sleep. It was nice.

We packed up and left when it was still dark out. My watch read 2.30 AM. "I just wanna get you home. Your folks must miss you, kid." I think he wanted to go back also, but I didn't say anything. I don't know what he would've gone back to. We made good time, rolling into town at about 6.30 in the morning. The lights around the roof looked real pretty reflecting off the frost- just like little stars strung along to illuminate the night. "Well, here we are, kid. Take care of yourself, okay?"

"If I don't, it means you gotta drop by and knock some sense into me, okay?"

"Okay, kid. Good night, I'll see you later." He squeezed my shoulder before I hightailed it to the front steps. I waved after unlocking the door, and he drove up to his own house. Our house was quieter than normal, but there was still a little activity going on. The infomercial lady was hocking her product of the week, and Uncle Soda was nursing a drink. "Hey, stranger. Did you have fun?" he whispered, patting the couch cushion. I nodded.

"How'd y'all do without me? Is Old Glory still flying?"

"Yep, she's still flyin' high. You look exhausted."

"I'll be okay once I go to bed. I missed y'all bad, though. I know it was just one day, but I'm glad to be home." I let Uncle Soda hug me before I stumbled off to bed. He was right, I was dead tired.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** ** _S. E. Hinton owns all rights to the characters in The Outsiders and her other stories, I only own my imagination. This Johnny (Johnny 2.0) is my own creation (along with Mikey, Dave, Shane, Pat, & Neil), though he was unashamedly inspired by Ms. Hinton's Johnny. More Dallas and Johnny! Those two are fun to write, that's why you're getting so many chapters with them. I'm not sorry._**

I don't remember even taking my shoes off before I passed out, but someone had, because I was barefoot when I woke up. The late afternoon twilight glowed gently through the blinds, and the happy chaos that characterized our home life was softer than I'd remembered. I tried shaking off the excess sleepiness as I headed to the shower. That would wake me up. I stared at my reflection as the water got hot. I guess I looked a little too thin for comfort, but I still didn't eat much. That might've been why Dal was so concerned. My collarbone stuck out so far that people could walk on it, and my cheekbones had a sharper look to them than I'd thought. I could count my ribs, too, but I decided not to do that. That just drove the point home.

My hair was still dripping as I got dressed. It was the first official day of Christmas break, and I wasn't looking forward to doing anything. I just wanted more sleep, honestly. I forced myself to go into the living room, where I knew everyone would be waiting with bated breath. "It's just your family, Johnny. Go talk to them, then you can go back to bed and sleep for twenty some years." I mumbled out a pep talk, but it couldn't prepare me for the maneuvering I'd have to do.

"Hey, kiddo, how was your trip?" Dad met me in the hall.

"It was nice. We found an abandoned motel and went exploring." If he'd found out that we'd gone to Windrixville, I knew it wouldn't end well.

"Where was it?"

"It was in a little Podunk town way out in the boonies someplace. I blinked and missed the sign."

"Oh, too bad. We could've gone and checked it out."

"It wasn't that interesting. Lots of black mold, too. I don't think you would've dug it." I hated lying to him, but I had to. He couldn't know where we'd gone. We'd trespassed on sacred territory, and it was my job to act like we hadn't. "I'm gonna go see Dallas. I'll be back later." I shrugged into my jacket and walked outside and found him sitting in that oak tree, conveniently forgetting about the rest of the family. "Hey." I smiled, looking up at his dangling feet.

"Hey, kid. Sleep well?"

"Oh yeah. I passed out when I made it inside. You?"

"I fell asleep in the car. Luckily the window was cracked. Did you tell 'em anything?"

"Not really. I didn't think they'd wanna know where we went. I doubt they'd take it well."

"Good, then that can be our Jay Mountain." He slid out of the tree, beckoning me to follow him to the car.

We drove along in silence, each of us in an exhausted daze. We smoked for a little while, but even that got to be too much. I'd lied to my dad's face; something I'd never done before. Of course I'd told a few stories here and there, but that was different than lying to protect someone from the truth. It was only when we'd pulled up to the cemetery that I realized that Dal actually had a destination in mind. "C'mon, kid." He took my arm, leading me to where my dad's friends were buried. We sat near the graves, sharing our last cigarette and a thermos of coffee. It was a nice place to be buried, but it was kinda rough looking, like the rest of town.

"You think he'll find out?" Dal asked, exhaling smoke through his nose.

"I hope not. It'd crush him if he knew we'd gone there. It feels like forbidden territory." I took a drag on the cigarette, wishing it'd calm me down.

"What's he gonna do? Chew you out because I took you on a trip? I don't think he'd do that. He's too tuff."

"He might; he's been real protective since Mom died, kinda verging on strict."

"At least he cares about you. My old man don't even know I'm there most of the time, so I can run wild as the wind." He stared at the horizon for a long time. It was getting dark. "You're lucky, y'know. You got a whole family to love you. I got no one."

"That isn't true, Dal. You've got me." I thought I'd just kept that between me, myself, and I, but judging by the look he gave me, it had come out.

"I still think you're a few cents short of a Benjamin, kid. You'd have to be to love someone like me." He replied, handing me the thermos. "I wonder what they were really like." He was studying the gravestones, his eyes searching for any information to latch on to.

"Dad says that Johnny was real quiet and nervous from gettin' belted all the time. He was a good listener, too, according to everyone I've asked. I think the gang really liked him. I dunno much about Dallas, other than what he did for my dad and Johnny when that Soc died. My dad says he was one stone grease, all tough and too real to idealize. Johnny worshiped the ground he walked on. I don't know why."

"Maybe he was like you, kid. I thought of you every time I read about Johnny in that book, even down to the way you wipe your nose."

"You did not! I bet his technique was different."

"I bet not, I bet it was just the same. Now, I don't think I'm anything like that Dallas cat." He was leading me on, and he knew it.

"I dunno, y'all seemed real similar when I read through the book. Even down to the way you wipe your nose." I ducked as he took a swipe at me, but he didn't come back for a second try. He was laughing too hard.

I waited for Dallas before going inside. He'd wanted to meet everybody, but he had to park his car first. "You could've just parked in front of our house."

"Nah, that's okay, kid. Let's just head inside, it's freezing out here."

"You ain't a-woofin'." I agreed, opening the door.

"Oh, hi, Dallas. How's the project going?" Dad asked from the kitchen.

"It's okay, Mr. Curtis. I still don't know why you paired me with this kid, though. He's weird."

"Birds of a feather flock together, Dallas. Take your coats off and stay a while, there's coffee, if you want it."

"No, I think we've had plenty." He grabbed my wrist to steady it; I was shaking something fierce. "I think you need to sedate this kid, he's shakin' like it's goin' outta style."

"Too much caffeine, plus nerves, minus sleep equals Johnny, all right." He nodded as we sat down by Uncle Soda, who handed me a lit cigarette. "Soda, seriously, don't encourage underage smoking! It's bad for their health."

"And yet, he's fine. I think his color's coming back. Hey, who's the FNG?" He poked me, talking in a stage whisper.

"He's my project partner. His name's Dallas. Hey, Dal, this is my uncle Soda."

"Yeah, I've heard a lot about you. Nice ink."

"Got it in Huế, in a rat-infested hell-hole they called a tattoo parlor. My arm was swollen for at least a month." He grinned proudly, showing off his badge of honor. "You should see Steve. He's got tats like you wouldn't believe. Most of 'em were in Cambodia."

"I had an uncle who fought in 'Nam. His name was Jack Delaney, and he was with the 101st, too. You know him?" Uncle Soda's eyes darkened as Dallas mentioned that name.

"I knew him, yeah. Good buddy of mine, too. I miss him real bad; he was just a kid."

"You know what happened to him?"

"KIA. He was killed in combat." He fell silent, so we didn't say anything else till Mikey entered the room. I stiffened purely out of reflex and studied a worn patch on the carpet. He studied me for a moment, then sized up Dallas. "Who're you?"

"Who's askin', punk?" Dal drawled, stretching out languidly and crossing his ankles in Mikey's path. His boots were still wet from the frost.

"Aren't you gonna introduce your new friend, Johnny?" Mikey asked softly, eyes aflame. I wouldn't look at him. "Hey, I'm _talkin'_ to you, boy!" He leaned in my face before Uncle Soda grabbed him.

"Why don't you go play chicken on some train tracks, Mike? Quit pestering Johnny; your dad'll have a fit when he finds out you've been messin' with him again."

"You won't tell, will you?"

"No, I will." Dad countered, glaring at Mikey. "Now, do as Soda says before you get your ass handed to you." Mikey split once the threat of punishment was voiced, and he didn't come back.

"That Mikey sure is somethin' else. You okay, kid?"

"I'll be okay, Dal." I didn't feel okay, but I knew he wouldn't quit worrying if I'd told him that.

"Okay." He patted my knee, and I flinched.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** ** _S. E. Hinton owns all rights to the characters in The Outsiders and her other stories, I only own my imagination. This Johnny (Johnny 2.0) is my own creation (along with Mikey, Dave, Shane, Pat, & Neil), though he was unashamedly inspired by Ms. Hinton's Johnny. And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming consisting of bittersweet feelings. Side note: I think Dallas is a cat person.  
_**

Christmas came and went like it usually did at our house- with about as much commotion, food, and alcohol as a frat party. There were no togas or lampshades, but I think someone might've left a pizza on the record player. I stayed around the house for a couple days dealing with all the detritus from the celebration before New Year's hit, so Dal and I didn't see much of each other until that weekend. He was chopping firewood as I hauled overflowing bags to the garbage can. "Hey, kid! Have a nice Christmas?" He called, pausing his work to help me open the lid.

"Yeah, I got some socks, new jeans, a coat, boots, and basically everything I won't need once spring rolls around. Mikey got one of the new Razor scooters, so he's been ridin' around all high and mighty for the past couple days. Thinks he's a real tuff character. How about you, get anything good?"

"Cancer sticks and booze. One of the cats had kittens, so I went out to get some milk, but not much else happened. I gotcha somethin'; I know it ain't much, but I think you'll like it." He shoved a small package wrapped in grimy paper into my jacket pocket.

"I got you somethin', too, but you'll have to come inside first." I wiped my hands on my jeans.

As we went inside, Dallas caught sight of the fruit bowl on the kitchen table. "I thought it was too early for apples, oranges, and bananas."

"Oh, we get those in our stockings every year. I think I'm the only one that appreciates them, though." I said, snagging an apple. My dad had gone to the cemetery, so we had the room all to ourselves. Dal shut the door while I produced a small package wrapped in twine and old comic strips.

"Looks like we had the same idea, kid." Dal laughed, cutting the twine with his switch as I tore into my present. The boxes were identical, and so were the medals inside.

"St. John the Apostle, patron saint of friendships." I whispered, admiring the cool gleam of the sterling silver.

"I thought it woulda been kinda funny too, since your name's Johnny, but it's funnier that we both got the same one." Dal fastened the medal around my neck, and I did the same for him.

"I guess we'll have something to remember each other by, if we're ever separated." I said, unable to take my eyes off the necklace. It was too beautiful.

"Who says we'll be separated, kid? You 'n me, we're stuck like a fat cat in a chimney."

We sat on the bed in silence, unable to adequately express our mutual gratitude. I hadn't gotten much this year, but that medal would easily be my favorite gift. "How'd it go without your mom, kid?" Dal was staring at his hands.

"It went better than I thought, but I think I saw Dad crying a couple times. I know I've been crying all week." My voice threatened to break, so I paused. "It's gonna be hard, y'know?"

"I know. When's your birthday?"

"March 1st." My bottom lip trembled, but I didn't want to cry again.

"Mine's November 9th. I didn't mean to make you upset."

"It's not you, I'm just all mixed up. I don't have anybody to talk to, and it hurts still. Nobody talks about her at all; it's like she didn't even exist, but I know she did. Dad keeps tellin' me it's okay to talk to him, but I'm too scared because I lied about Windrixville, and no one else cares enough to ask me how I feel." I'd lost the fight against the tears, and they soaked into Dal's flannel shirt when his shoulder became my handkerchief.

"It's okay, kid. You've got me now, I didn't mean to make you cry." Dad entered the room softly, but backed away again after he saw the scene in front of him. I guess he knew we needed to be alone. I cried for a while longer before the sobs turned to hiccups, then I sat back, embarrassed.

"Sorry."

"You have nothin' to be sorry for, kid. If I missed my mom as much as you miss yours, I'd do the same thing. I'm just wondering how on earth it took you this long to finally let it out." Dallas handed me his hankie. "Here, keep this, kid. I got plenty at home. I think I'll cut out now, it looked like your dad wanted to talk. See ya around."

"Bye, Dal. Thanks." He hugged me tight before he left, and I could smell the pine sap on his clothes.

Dad came in after a while and sat cross-legged on the bed beside me. We didn't say anything for an eternity. Then, he spoke. "I know about Windrixville, Johnnycake."

"I'm sorry I lied to you; I thought you'd be mad."

"No, I wouldn't have been mad. Disappointed, possibly, but not mad. However, I'm a bit upset that you felt the need to lie to me. I thought we had honesty as our top priority, bud."

"I just got scared after gettin' grounded and yelled at so much. I didn't think it'd hurt anything, but I guess it did."

"I don't mean to yell so much, kiddo, but losing your mom's been hard on me, too; harder than you realize. I just didn't realize how hard you'd taken it too, and for that, I'm sorry. I guess I'm more like Darry than I thought."

"Why don't we ever talk about her?" I asked, turning my old Luke Skywalker action figure in my hands. I'd found it in a box of old toys we hadn't donated yet.

"Same reason I don't talk about my folks, it's too hard. Even after all these years, it's still too hard."

"You think we could, I mean, just every once in a while? It'd help."

"Okay, Johnnycake. If it helps, I'll talk. What d'you wanna know?"

"How'd you meet her?"

"Well, when I was in high school, there was a kid named Bryon Douglas. He was dating your mom for a while, but even back then, I knew I liked her. She had a brother who everybody called M&M, because he was addicted to those candies- you remember him, right?"

"Yeah." I said, vaguely remembering someone by that name.

"Anyway, he was always gettin' in trouble at home because he was enamored with the hippie culture that was so prevalent at the time, so one day, he ran off. They couldn't find him for at least a week, if I remember right, and she'd started to worry about him."

"Where'd they find him?"

"In a commune somewhere, nearly out of his mind from a bad trip. I dunno what happened after that, but she and Bryon broke up, and we started dating. She didn't like me much at first- thought I was too quiet. To be fair to her, I was pretty shy, but I opened up to her little by little after everything went down, and I think she finally got used to me."

"D'you think she loved you?" I don't know where that question came from, but it came out anyway.

"I never could tell. If I had to guess, I'd say no, though. She still loved Bryon, even though he didn't love her back. I saw him working at a grocery store a few, maybe ten years back, but I don't know whatever happened to him. His brother Mark was shot down by police after escaping from prison, I think. He'd taken a couple hostages, but they made it out okay. Your mom went to the funeral."

"You loved her, right? Even if she didn't love you back?"

"Oh, yeah. I loved her more than I could ever say. It took me three years to tell her, but I think she knew anyway. She was a good soul, and she loved you to pieces. Don't forget that, Johnnycake. Don't you ever forget that." He left me alone with my thoughts, hearing someone call his name.

 _Mom hadn't really loved Dad?_ No, that wasn't possible. They'd always been so good for each other, and yet… had they really? It wasn't a pleasant thought, but it was all I could hear echoing in my head at dinner. She hadn't loved the way his eyes lit up when he laughed, the weird way he held his fork, or that one cowlick behind his ear that never stayed down. And yet, she loved me. Loved me to pieces- enough to help me with homework late at night, put the glow stars all over my room, and kiss me goodnight before taking her last breath. Yeah, she loved me; more than she could ever say. And that's how I loved Dallas, too.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** ** _S. E. Hinton owns all rights to the characters in The Outsiders and her other stories, I only own my imagination. This Johnny (Johnny 2.0) is my own creation (along with Mikey, Dave, Shane, Pat, & Neil), though he was unashamedly inspired by Ms. Hinton's Johnny. This might be the last chapter, but I'm not sure. Please let me know if you'd like me to add more. I love taking requests from you guys.  
_**

We finished the project by the skin of our teeth, but neither of us enjoyed it. At least it wasn't an oral presentation; I don't think either of us would've showed up if it had been. Completing that report was about as fun as getting a flu shot, a root canal, and an appendectomy all in one day. We sat out in the cemetery again after school, trying to blow smoke rings in the already humid air that signaled the beginning of a long, hot summer.

"I'm just glad it's done, kid. You wanna know how much I hated that thing?" Dal asked.

"How much?" I grinned, flicking the ash from my cigarette.

"So much that I blocked it out. Seriously, after we handed it in, I forgot what we ended up writing in that paper."

"I don't think my dad'll know either. I just feel bad 'cuz he has to grade the damned thing. It'll give him a migraine, and us an F minus."

"I don't think it's that bad, kid." Dal shook his head, pushing my hair out of my eyes.

"Oh, yeah? Just watch. Everyone else will get A's and B's, and we'll be stuck with the only F in all of his classes."

"I think those stoner kids'll have us beat. Did you see how high they were? They kept eyein' that one chick's cupcakes like a one-eyed cat lookin' in a seafood store window." He chuckled, remembering the scene in class earlier that day.

"I heard the munchies are awful if you don't have food. Still wanna get away this weekend?"

"Yeah. I think they're tearing that old motel down, though."

"That's okay, we still have Jay Mountain." I left a dollar as we got into the car, headed for freedom.

Windrixville felt different in the early summertime, and it wasn't just the weather's fault. Somehow, it felt more alive, if that was possible for a sleepy little backwater. We made it to Jay Mountain after booking a room in a new hotel in town, and we sat on the stone floor of the old church, reflecting on everything. "I like that new place. I hope it sticks around longer than that motel did." Dal said.

"Yeah, but I kinda miss that creepy little place. It was nice in a ratty, free candy advertisement on a van sort of way."

"I think all that black mold went to your head, kid. That place was no Hilton." He playfully shoved my shoulder.

"I know, but it was the first place we really went together besides here, and that'll always make it special."

"Don't start waxing poetic on me, kid. I think I'll get sick if you do."

"All I can quote is Frost, so you won't have to worry about that. I'm no Lord Byron." I said with a laugh.

"How's your relationship with your dad? Any better?"

"Much. We actually talk about Mom sometimes, and that gets him talking about his folks, too. I think it's helping everybody, except Mikey, out. Nothing but military school would help Mikey."

"Are they sendin' him to one?"

"I dunno, I heard the adults talking about it, but I fell asleep before they could finish their conversation. Dad doesn't kick me in his sleep nearly as much, either. Uncle Soda's technique really works."

"How about the nightmares?" He stretched, swatting a butterfly away from his face.

"I still get those all the time. Nothing's gonna change that, but I keep imagining you're sittin' up in that tree in your yard every time I have them, and it helps me calm down."

"Wanna know why I like that tree?"

"Yeah, I've been meaning to ask you about that."

"Well, when my old lady took off, the very first thing I did was get in that tree to see where she was goin'. When she didn't come back, and she didn't come back, I sat there anyway, thinkin' she would. Eventually, I figured that she'd cut out for good, but I go out there to think now. It calms me down, too. Helps me cope with all my baggage." He looked a little sad.

"Were you upset about your uncle Jack?"

"Nah, a lot of the guys who went to 'Nam died there. I'm just glad yours came back in one piece. A good family makes everything easier to handle. It was kinda weird how he reacted when I asked him about Uncle Jack, though. Was he real upset when I left?"

"No, he just drank a little more than usual. I'm worried about him, to be honest. He's been drinking a lot more lately."

"Maybe it's stress; just keep an eye on him and call the VA if anything weird happens. I have to do that with my old man sometimes." Dallas said, lighting a cigarette.

"I hope he's okay, I don't want anything to happen to him too." I studied the field below us, dressed for summer in deepening shades of green where the wildflowers didn't bloom. "It sure is pretty here."

"Yeah. Were you really scared of me when you met me, kid?"

"Uh-huh, I thought you were gonna jump me, or something. It sounds stupid now, but I was real nervous."

"What d'you think of me now?" His eyes were softer than I'd ever seen them.

"I still think you're a stone grease, and real tuff to boot, but I also think you're the best friend I could ever have. What did you think of me?"

"I thought you were jumpy, real quiet, and kinda wimpy."

"You're three for three, Dal. You should think about takin' up gambling." I quipped with a cheeky smile.

"But you're sweet too. Kinda like a chocolate-covered cherry. You break through the outer shell, and all the sweetness comes out. You also happen to be the weirdest kid with the weirdest family I've ever met, and I'm proud to call you my buddy. You still got that sock monkey?"

"Yeah, why?"

"'Cuz I have one too. If you let that get around, I'll stick you real good, kid." He fell silent for a moment, then added "But I'd probably kill myself after that."

"Why d'you say that, Dal?" I turned to look at him.

"I can't live in a world without my only friend. It's a rough enough time out there as it is, and it'd be even worse without you. I think that's how that one kid felt when your dad's buddy croaked."

"I guess that'd be the only way you could stay gold, huh?" I asked, remembering Johnny and Frost.

"Yeah. With you, I'll always stay gold, kid."


End file.
